


Infinity and Infallible

by Santsi



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: AU, Death, Different lives, Different periods and places in time, Drinking, F/M, Idea that the people around us we know in many lives, Reincarnation, Sibling Incest, The Unknown, soul mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-11-19 06:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11307504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Santsi/pseuds/Santsi
Summary: 2 : A name and the sea. Circa 1200.The second time they meet, she never learns his name.( Chardee soulmate AU. Went the reincarnation route. Time line is nonlinear.  Super AU. )





	1. Heretics and Heresy

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SunnyRarePairs](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SunnyRarePairs) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Chardee soulmate AU (the way you go about the whole soulmate thing is totally up to you!).
> 
>  
> 
> I was super excited to do this. I love reincarnation fics, and have done a few so it was really fun to do Charlie and Dee. They will be relatively ooc at first, because the route I'm going is that each of their lives mold them, and the whole gang plays different roles for eachother in different lives. We will see charlie and dee as they are in canon eventually. This will be fun to play with. This will also be about as fanfiction as it gets and a super shout out to The borgias, cause before Sunny there was Borgias. And major inspiration for their first life. This will be very varied, though. Just as no two lives are the same. Onward!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dea and Cesare. Rome. The first time they meet, they come into the world together.

He thinks his sister has hair like the Florentine sun; Yellow and vibrant.

They don't have much in the way of riches, they are no nobles. But _Dianora de Rossi could be, Cesare de Rossi thinks._ She could be some noblewomen, hair all plaited and jeweled in finery. He is glad they are not some high born family, beautiful as she would be. Their low born status leaves them busy with work and nights at taverns, no scandals to worry on. No one too important to pry.

She is beautiful now, flaxen hair spread around her head in a halo. "A halo of dirt." Cesare smiles and fingers a wavy peice of his sister's hair.

"What are you on about?" She peers up at him, blue eyes, green cast in the late afternoon sun. She chucks a smooth pebble at him and he ducks.

"I was only commenting on how angelic you are, sis." There's a playfulness in his green gaze.

"That's better." She moves from laying on the bank's edge to sit beside him in the grass. Her hair a wild, tangled mess, twigs and curled and everything he would call perfect.

Her gaze is straight ahead, "I'm to be married, you know..." The words linger in the air, and she doesn't look at him. "It is nessecary. I have no idea how Daniolle pulled such a dowry, but you can not let our father get his hands on it. I will not be married off for whores and wine, Cesare." He looks at her and sees that she is pleading with him, "I know. I know, Dea. I won't let him touch it."

"Good." She hardens, "And after this there will be no more fodder for _idiots."_

Cesare cocks his head to the side and squints his eyes, rubs his neck, "Come on, sis. You know how idiots love their fodder."

She glares at him, "Shut up."

His rough fingers touch the soft flesh of her cheek, his smiles is bright and wide, and her edges melt away.

"I will miss this water." She says to nothing in particular, "I will miss our Gods."

"Dea, you must not speak of them," Cesare says, digging his hands into the earth, "Your new husband will be a Christian, and so will you. Keep our mother's ways in your heart and let that be the end of it."

Her features harden again, "It makes no difference, Cesare. Heathen or no, my husband will find me unworthy of the dowry he is paying. I was not made to be a woman in this world, not for marriage or piety, or bearing children."

He thinks of a time not too long ago, when Dea's belly was hardly swollen and of the bloody mess that covered her thighs. He wasn't sure if she had made some sort of poltuce or if the Christian God had found them, but the whole ordeal was enough to keep him from her for days. 

The two of them had always been close, through their mother's death and their father's madness. Dianora held on to her mother's Gods as though they were the skirts she used to cling to. Cesare gambled and drank and came home to warm his body with her own. It's been like that, Cesare thinks, forever. Even before the death of their mother. He couldn't stand to be away from her.

"I will run. I will stay long enough to give him a child, and I will come home. Then we will leave, you and me. We will go some where far from here and these zealots. Save the dowry until then. We'll never come back, Cesare. "

She looks at him and he thinks she's crazy, but her plan to return to him is the sweetest thing he's heard since his mother used to sing.  He will have her and her dowry, and the bastard will have his child.

"Okay, sis." He nods, and leans in to meet her lips.

 

Every night before the wedding they hide behind the trees at the riverbend. No one can see them but the Gods; Gods that have no place being spoken of in the city.

"How can such love be made by anyone but the Gods?" She tells him, voice hushed by his ear, "It is only for us." Their fingers thread together.

At night they dont talk about her coming prenuptuals. They revel in eachother beneath the protection Dea insists is real from their family's Gods. When day light comes, there is a rock in the pit of his stomach. Quiet rage took him the moment he was assured of the union and drink took him after. Atleast she would be safe. _This is what he tells himself between drinks and nights kept by whores. He can never tell which is worse, the guilt or the loss._

More and more women are burning. The smell stays in the air long after they've gone, and Cesare carries this home with him and in his heart. He would not have his sister burned because of him. He steps in the river to wash lasts nights sins from his body. 

 Their family was enough of a pariah, a long line holding on to their Gods and siblings too close to be good Christain folk. And he heard them talking. Gossip has a foul smell. It lingers in your mouth, and rots like flesh. His mother told him as such. His close friend, Daniolle was always stinking with a mouth full of gossip, and eyes for his sister. He didn't even know why he was so close with the man. Daniolle was higher born than Cesare, light brown curls always in the most current fashion. He made his fortunes in insuring ships, and that was all Cesare knew, was allowed to know. It was Daniolle who he asked to find a suitor for his sister, a duty set to him by his lackwit troll of a father. He would have told him to do it himself, but for Dea's sake he set out. He chose Daniolle to make the match, partly because he knew wealthy men. Partly because Daniolle had been asking questions that seems too close to dangerous, and the time was ripe. No fires to keep the starving people with an enemy to look upon. He had heard tales at a tavern once, about a man who gives coin for names, and Daniolle did love his coin. When he let Daniolle in on his sister's plan, and the coin he would give to make sure it went smoothly, Daniolle quirked a brow. It was not impossible, the man meant to was his sister was highborn, but old. He held no favor with other nobleman, and was turned down by many wealthy families on his search for a bride. The man needed an heir, it was only happenstance and luck the Dianora knew Daniolle and she was fair haired and beautiful. No doubt the man will not take kindly to her leaving the minute the babe is pulled from her body, but it made no matter to any of them.

"So it is, hmmm." He nods and looks around before shaking Cesare's hand. "Love will find a way." His grin was easy and nasty, too easy for Cesare's liking, but he knew Daniolle well, and the sizable dowry he managed to swing was no act of kindness on Daniolle's part. Cesare thought it odd how his sister and his friend were so similar with a taste for strategy. Always looking ahead, always clawing for something more.

 

When his sister is married, propriety keeps them distant. It is a heavy ache at first. A rock where his heart used to be, and then he can't decide if its a rock or a hole, but he must go on, it won't be long before he gets her with child, her beauty will make sure of that, then once the child is born, she will be his and they can make for the Naples countyside. It won't be long.

 At home the air smells light with spring, but the city air still smells foul with the flesh of a girl who burned for adultry, witchcraft, commiting incest, and copulating with demons. He catches the ghost of her tear streaked face, on the way to the market before she burns, but all he remembers is her hair; yellow spilling down to her waist, wild with twigs and curls. He remembers the smell of that girl's hair in the air for the rest of his life, a balm to the pain of losing the only one he ever loved.

The cruelty is never lost on him. Not when the only time he sees Dea again, is when her husband stands behind her body, "A poxy." He says, Black eyes and leathery scowl, a clear glaze wall over his black irises. He thinks of her eyes, and the blue water they played in, and the wall of this man, and the strength in his sister. No, the cruelty is never lost from not even when the light has left her eyes, and death has taken her youth.


	2. A name and the sea.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second time they meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is very out there for the Sunny fandom, but hey, real life is stranger than fanfiction, so *shrug*. I considered deleting it, but I'm stubborn. It's hard putting these characters in different places in time, but I started to think, they are so horrible to eachother in canon. What if their lives are just cycled of them being horrible to eachother and never learning? How would that look? So thank you so much to those who reviewed and left kudos. You guys are wonderful and the only reason onward is happening. I'm going through a weird spot right now, and I apologize for the slow update. It will get better. Onward! Here's to out there chardee and Dennisstopbeingweirdwithyoursister,damn.

The second time they meet, she never even learns his name.

 

 She's been taken from her family home by savages. Painted faces and locks of hair like muddy snakes, though she feels fear, she does not let it show. A man with strange black markings on his face grabs her by her hair. In some tongue unknown to her he barks at his partner. Though she doesn't know the language, she isn't so niave that she doesn't understand. 

 The people in her village had been speaking of raids for weeks it seemed. Most were killed, but women were taken for slaves and wives, so they said with weary eyes. Bodies of children were piled and burned.

They would not take her.

She spit in the man's face and he laughed. "I would die before you took me." She reached for the man's dagger and before she could spill her own blood, the man placed his hand over her own, dagger still in her fingers.

His meaty fingers squeezed so tight over her own, she thought they might break. He placed the crude dagger's edge over her throat and pressed. Blood dribbled down and down, over her collar bone, but as she felt the sting, she did not cry. She met his eyes. She would not die on her knees, a sobbing mess of a woman.

Her blue eyes stayed clear and hard, and with this she noticed something change in his eyes. Dropping the dagger, he turned to say something else to his partner. His partner shrugged and nodded. With that she was heaved over his shoulder and tied to their ship's bench.

She never cried, never made a sound.

Not as she watched her home, her family, a candle flame in the distance. 

.

She should have known, she thinks, as women that don't speak plait her long hair and drape her in their own clothing. The wool is uncomfortable, but warm. The climate here is colder than she is used to, but no colder than her own being. 

When they are done with her, she is bound by her neck and taken to a large structure. Larger than the shacks around the muddied village.

Once inside she realizes it's a hall, crowded by people and stinking of sweat and ale. They are loud, too loud for the buzzing that's been in her ears since she watched them gut her brother.

She is yanked from her thoughts by the brute force of her captor. The path ahead is clear, and before them a man sits in a chair, high above the ground, fixed on stone. 

_"This one is a gift." Her captor grunts._

_"A gift..." the man in the chair considers. He hops off of his chair and the swagger in his step let's her know he is in high standing among this clan. Some cheif she thinks. It doesn't take long for her to put together what is happening._

_"Thank you Bjorn, your kindness will be rewarded. She is strong, I take it."_

_"As strong a bitch as she is fair. Never made a sound. Tried to take her own life than be taken. Was going to take her myself, but it's you who should have her_

_We'd not have our spoils were it not for you, Earl."_

 

He fingers her hair, and his eyes are bright and intense and she feels like he is seeing past her clothes and skin and bone, right into her.

 She spits in his face.

He laughs, loud and proud, wiping the dribble off as if it were sweat.  _"Here we have a good one, my friends. She could be one of our own, eh?"_

All she understands is the raucous laughter that erupts from the hall, the easy grin he wears. It's no wonder this man is their leader, she thinks. Even in his foreign tongue she can tell he is charismatic.

_"Little one..." He says to her, low, dripping with something that sounds like seduction. "You will be mine, do not worry so. I treat my slaves well."_

She shakes her head from his hand and growls at him. If she can not speak their language, she can show them she will not make it easy.

_._

The Earl has three slaves, not counting herself. One with dark hair, and eyes like sweet almonds. Another was a boy, he couldn't have been older than her younger brother, and his hair was a shock of bright red, almost orange. His face was sweet, and not unlike her own child these savages had burned. Something inside of her turned, and she brought her axe down hard on the wood. When it split, she felt satisfied. 

"Sigrid, You must learn the language. The boy can teach you." Sigrunn said softly. 

She scoffed, "My name is not Sigrid. I am Diera."

"You are Sigrid now. You should be proud, girl. It means you are a great beauty, and worthy of a place in the Earls home."

"Who were you before you were Sigrunn?"

The older woman's eyes were a shadow of something Diera could only weep for, had she not steeled herself against the cold. "There was once a girl, and her name was Mildred and she had many beautiful children. But Mildred is dead. Sigrunn is who sits before you. Take care girl. Know your place."

She lets that roll off of her shoulders, rolls her neck and gestures towards the boy, "He can teach me?"

Sigrunn nods, "That's why he keeps them. He has a queer eye for special things. The boy came young and learned the language. He keeps him because one day, his wit may save our clan, your clan now. He will earn his freedom then. He frees his slaves, always. He freed me. I have no where to go and my children are dead, and he treats me kindly, so I stay. Be grateful, girl. Sigrid."

"Diera." She mutters under her breath and cuts her eyes at the old woman. She would never be like her, subservient and _grateful for my scraps, thank you, Earl._

When she noticed the boy staring, she gestured for him to come to her.

.

 

The language comes together in patches. She picks words out and peices them together in her mind. The language is a puzzle with many missing peices. The boy is sweet as she'd thought he'd be. Patient, calm, though stranger than any boy she'd known. Boys his age were rowdy and ready to prove something. This one was different. Cautious and scowling, bright as they come, but better left in his own world. She had heard before that red hair was like a marking, an omen, a gift from some gods to some people. She never listened much to the superstitions of old women.

 At night the earl visits her bed, but never touches her. The first few nights she spends in the darkness, barely breathing, chest constricting. A fly in a spider web. When he comes he sits at the the foot of her bed, he offers her ale, but she just stares at him.

 

 Nights go by and finally, she takes the ale. This waiting for him to take what men will always take is driving her beyond mad.

 

"Now there's a good girl." He says to her in her own tongue, thick with the accent of his cold lands.

"You speak my language?!" She nearly chokes on her ale.

"I have been to  many lands and made many friends, Sigrid."

"My name is Diera." She says defiantly, downing the rest of her ale and chucking the horn at his head. He dodges it, clearly amused. 

"Diera." The Earl says easy like a song, "I see, such a name does not suit you. Do you know what a great beauty you are girl?"

"I know my children were beautiful before your men burned them." This is no place for memories.

He shakes his head, "These are the old ways Sigrid-Diera. Ugly as they are, the Gods want what they want." There it is again. He speaks like a taunting child.

"And what do you want?"

"A better way." He says with a shrug, downing the rest of his ale, "The seer told me you would come."

"What? Some girl from the lands you pillage? Hardly specific."

He narrows his eyes, "I think she's full of shit. But the people I lead, she could tell them the sky would rain mutton and ale, and they would run outside, mouths open to the sky."

It clicks.

She laughs, loud and hollow, "This is how you justify burning whole villages and taking bodies and virtue you have no business taking? Use some slave that fits to make truth from some lie? "

His smile never faulters, "What better way to lead dogs, than with meat?"

Her stare is hard, and he finds it stirs him, "Keep your lessons with Fell. He will teach you well."

With the that he left, but the cold remained.

.

 

"Fell, what was your real name?" 

He doesn't respond. His eyes stay fixed on the sky. Daybreak is quiet, compared to the roaring in her ears. If she listens and closes her eyes, it almost sounds like home; the chirping of bugs, the song of birds, the wind through the trees, water breaking on the shore. Her lessons with Fell are the only time she can close her eyes and feel something like safe.

 She wonders how long he has been here, because he would never tell her his name, no matter how often she asked. It was like that, she learned, with slaves who had been here long enough. She would never stop asking.

"Are you going to keep asking me what my name is, or do you want to learn what we're here for?" He grumbles passively, and she rolls her eyes.

"I want to get out of here. I want to go home. I don't care about the language or these people, or the damn Earl and whatever his plans are."

"You should really stop talking about him like that, Sigrid. He'll kill you."

"That bastard won't kill me."

"How do you know that?" Fell asks, exasperated. 

"Says he needs me. Some plan to lead the people."

Fell furrows his eyebrows, "Are you that stupid? You can pick up a language, but you can't pick up on the obvious?"

"What?"

"He said the same thing to the last Sigrid. And to the two before her. Second one took to it. Others did at first too, but when they turned on him, he put an axe through their skull. He only wants to fuck you and play games." 

Fell's eyes travel the craggy rock above the shore, but she knows he means every word. Its no surprise to her, she had known men like him before. Men that spin webs around anyone weak enough to get caught. Men like him that should never lead. 

"Small cock, probably."

"You're going to get yourself killed faster than all of them, Sigrid."

"Let him."

"I would rather you didn't." Fell grumbles, lying back in the rocky sand, shadows under his eyes too dark for anyone his age.

"Why? Are you sick of teaching Sigirds?" She asked, she'd grown fond of prodding him.

 He glanced at her, then to the sea.

 She repeated, "Why won't you tell me?"

 "Because I know my place. That's how you live here. That's how you survive. And I know you'll have too much ale and shout it at me infront of the Earl and then it will be both of our skulls, split open." He made a popping sound with his lips.

 Diera didn't care. She'd take an axe to the skull and be happy for it. But this Earl, she could use this some how. The thought of home was a thought too sweet to let go of.

 "Don't you want to go home? Don't you even care to try?"

 She's pleading with him now. He wrings his hands for a moment, and finally, finally looks at her. Diera swears she feels something pull from within.

.

 

When the Earl visits her that night, she remembers what Fell said.  _You're going to get yourself killed faster than all of them, Sigrid._

 No, she thinks _, I'm going to get us out of here._

-

 At first, it happens just like she thinks it will. She has met many men like him. Men that need sweet words and sighs and adoration. Men that need to feel important, bigger.

 She doesn't know the lands, but Fell does. He knows which plants harm and heal, and how to boil them down to a hardly bitter liquid. A liquid that's nearly tasteless in wine.

 When he finally beds her, she doesn't even feel it. She turns it around in her mind. This is her means to an end. She lost many children to winters and disease long before the ones he burned. Her resolve is all she has now.

 The days go by and turn to weeks. Finally he walks around naked, struts like he's a gift, leaves her in his bed alone like she's learned her name. It's time.

 What she doesn't count on is the girl in the treeline, the one she never sees or knows of, a slave just like her and Fell. She whispers into the Earls ear, and he thinks her almond eyes were made just for him.

 She never counts on how cold he is, how he knows her plans long before she carries them out. How he loves his games.

 Not until after it's done and she's looking at the body below her that used to be her own, all raw flesh and blood weeping into the ground.

 It's in that moment that she remembers and breaks when a boy with red hair watches her die again before he takes an axe to the head himself.

 In the everything she knows, and the all she sees as she goes up and up and up, she never knows his name or feels him in the everything with her.

 They both know it won't be long. 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
